Bath Time
by karmascars
Summary: A series of shorts, presented here in chapters. Dean and Cas (and later, Sam) in all sorts of water-based fun. (No actual watersports, though, because that's gross.) Fluff and squee and smut.
1. The Rubber Duck

**Bath Time**

A series of shorts presented as chapters. Also available on my livejournal singthefuryhome, and my AO3 as karmascars.

Basically, Dean and Cas (and later Sam) in all sorts of water-based fun. No actual watersports, though, that's gross.

* * *

_**Bath Time #1: The Rubber Duck**_

"Dean, what is this?"

The hunter squints over at Castiel. "You're in the shadows, man, c'mere." He beckons with the hand least coated in gun oil, his other hand cradling the body of his pistol. When Castiel holds out the item in question, Dean's eyebrows shoot to the roof, and his lips purse in the way that Castiel has identified as Dean trying desperately not to laugh.

"That's a rubber duck," Dean announces, eyes sparkling. Castiel tilts his head to indicate confusion, which brings an entirely different smile to Dean's face. "Well, it's just... something kids play with, in the bathtub."

"Bathtub," Castiel echoes, brow furrowed. "A receptacle in the bathroom? Full of children?"

This time Dean does laugh, hearty guffaws that double him over, eventually dissolving into snorts and sniggers. When he can finally speak again, he does so through dying chuckles. "No, Cas, that's -" He casts his eyes ruefully into the dinky motel bathroom. "Next place we stay in, we'll find a garden tub. Ooh! Or a Jacuzzi. Everyone should experience jets at least once."

Castiel is vaguely aware of jet being a stone, and also perhaps a human conveyance of flight, but as usual, Dean's reference eludes him.

He trusts the hunter implicitly, though, and so resolves to simply wait and see.

. . .

Dean's got his arm swept out proudly over what, to Castiel, looks like a basin made of manufactured materials large enough for four human adults to sit inside. On what looks like uncomfortable shelves dotted with black rubber nozzles.

"Look at the size of this thing!" Dean rubs his hands together. "All right, let's get this baby fired up!"

Fire? Castiel turns to Dean in alarm. The hunter is muttering under his breath, something about bubbles. The angel opens his mouth but then Dean, pointing to the tub, says, "Turn those two knobs until the water is a good temperature, a little hot so it'll stay warm longer, but you don't wanna scald." He twists the cap off a bottle shaped like a man wearing a pointed mask and a long, black cape.

Dean sees him looking, and toasts him with the bottle. "Viva la bubble bath," he says seriously, and upends the entire bottle beneath the cascading faucet.

Immediately, pristine bubbles form, and Castiel is mesmerized. He sinks to his knees, as close up against the side of the tub as he can get, reaching out to poke one and sitting back stiff with a gasp when it pops. Then he pokes another, and another, then finally scoops some into his hand. The sudsy water drips down into his coat sleeve, but he doesn't _care_. "I have seen these form in the ocean," Castiel says in wonder, "but I had no idea they felt like this. Or could smell like - what is that?" He turns and looks up at Dean, who smiles down at him. "It's _Bat_-berry," the hunter says, smile becoming a grin.

Castiel doesn't understand, but he puts that from his mind when before him, Dean undergoes a transformation: his neck, ears, and cheeks flush red, he no longer meets Castiel's eyes, and his fingers fidget. Quickly as thought Castiel stands, his sodden arm dripping on the tile. "Dean, what is it?" he asks urgently.

A little laugh. "Uh, I was just gonna - uh, did you wanna get in?"

Confusion.

"Um, in there," Dean mumbles, gesturing curtly to the bath. "Oh!" Castiel says. "But, my clothes will get wet." If possible, Dean flushes even redder.

"You, uh, y'don't wear clothes in a bath."

"Oh." And instantly Castiel is nude, his clothes appearing folded on the closed toilet lid. Dean gapes and whirls, and stammers with his back turned, "Okay, then, leave you to it," and makes to escape.

"Dean." Castiel stands helplessly beside the tub, fingers moving restlessly, naked and a little chilly. "What do I do?"

Dean's shoulders are stiff. "You climb in, and sit down. Then when you're in there, press the button for the jets."

Water sloshes a comfortable temperature over Castiel's skin as he steps in. He settles gingerly on one of the plastic seats - just as uncomfortable as he's anticipated - and reaches for the button.

A sharp sting of pressure hits his back and he yelps, twisting away from it only to encounter another. "Dean!" he calls frantically, but the hunter is laughing again, eyes wide over the hand clapped he's clapped to his mouth in a desperate attempt to silence himself. "Cas," Dean snorts when he can, "that's the jets, man, relax." He moves toward the wall, crouches and pats an odd, foam pillow attached to that side of the tub. "And nobody sits in a Jacuzzi! Come over here and lie down."

Castiel creeps through the water toward Dean and wonders to himself at the hunter's full-body shudder.

Dean won't look at him again. He's turning off the faucet. "Dean," Castiel says, settling back against the pillow and finding it satisfactory. Dean pretends not to hear him, drying his hands on a towel. "Well, enjoy," he says, his voice gruffer than usual, and he keeps his eyes cast away as he turns to leave.

_"Dean."_

The hunter's head snaps up, his eyes track to Castiel's unerringly and Castiel feels a rush at what he sees there. "Do you want to join me?" the angel asks, poking idly at the bubbles, trying to appear completely relaxed. "It's... nice."

Dean blinks. Blinks again, shakes his head. "No, no, I don't do baths," he says, and turns once again to the door.

Castiel draws a deep breath. "Dean, I would very much like for you to share this experience with me."

"No..." Dean's fingers ripple, clench and unclench. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Dean, please."

Green eyes burn _holes_ into storm-sky blue. Dean takes off his shirt. Boots, socks and pants follow, but he leaves his boxers on. The red flush runs down his back and chest as he steps in and settles across from Castiel, perching on one of the seats.

Then, despite his reticence, Dean melts under the jets with a dirty moan. Castiel feels a stirring where he's sitting and shifts, with the barest frown. "Cas," Dean says loosely, "you made the right call."

"You should try this other pillow," Castiel says, settling into his. "They looked uncomfortable but they are actually quite serviceable."

"Nah, that's your side," Dean says dismissively, trying different angles in his seat. Castiel really does frown at that. "But you would be much more comfortable on the -"

"Damnit, Cas!" Dean snaps. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Castiel's eyes fly wide. "No, Dean, we are working to save you!"

"Cas..." Dean groans. "I got in. I'm sitting. Isn't that good enough?"

"I just want you to be comfortable!" Castiel explodes, both in voice and up out of the water, surging over to the hunter and planting both hands on Dean's thighs. "You run yourself ragged," he says earnestly, noting how at this distance (or lack thereof) he can map all the hidden symbols in Dean's freckles. "You drive and hunt and drink and all on very little sleep, just so -"

"Cas," Dean chokes out. "Personal space."

Castiel searches Dean's eyes, or tries to, but Dean keeps evading his gaze. He dips and dodges trying to catch Dean's eyes until one of his hands slips, inward, and his fingers snag on something that knocks a ragged gasp out of Dean. "Fuck!" the hunter snarls, twisting his hips to the side. "Get back on the other side, Cas!"

The angel just stares, not comprehending. "But, Dean -"

"Cas, please!" Dean sounds strained. The bolt of his jaw is twitching.

"Dean." The angel, eternally patient, rubs up against Dean's leg. "We are the same."

Dean's mouth falls open at the contact so Castiel does it again, and again, delighting so in Dean's reactions that he almost doesn't notice how good the friction feels. "Dean," Castiel says happily, sliding a hand into Dean's boxers and freeing the hunter's engorged cock, smiling benevolently when Dean moans and tilts his head back, looking at Castiel, incredulous. "Cas, where did you?..."

"I have seen you and Sam by yourselves -" "Ahaha, okay, cardinal rule: no - _ah!_ talking about my brother while you're _mmm_ touching me like this." Castiel twists his wrist, thumbs over the head and Dean jerks forward, knocking into Castiel and they're falling into the water, Dean's lips finding his as their heads go under.

They surface, laughing, streaming soapy water, Castiel still with a firm grip on Dean and Dean's just trying to kiss him again. "Oh, Cas," Dean says, "fucking hell, man," and his rough hunter's hand has found Castiel beneath the water. They trade strokes and rhythm and whimpers, Castiel seeking Dean's mouth with his own, completely unable to control his hips. It's so wet and so hot and so _good_, jets pummeling him with speeding bubbles, connected to Dean by hands and mouth. Castiel breathes greedily into Dean's mouth, chasing his tongue with his own.

Dean slides and wriggles, their erections line up and the friction drives a high, clear noise from Castiel. Dean laughs, but the sound is aroused and breathy; he bucks his hips into Castiel's, hard, their slide cushioned by the water. Dean kisses him again, and Castiel feels something like an electric warmth building in his nethers, forcing light from his veins and out through his skin. It feels _fantastic_. "_Mmph_, Dean, I feel -"

"Shh, let it go, buddy, let it go," Dean pants, cupping Castiel's head in his hands, working his hips snap-two-three-four – Castiel throws his head back on a sharp cry and comes, thick pulses into the water. His entire body tenses, minute little shakes in his limbs, his vision graying out – Dean noses into his neck and _bites_, Castiel cries out and Dean's coming, seizing over Castiel, heat rushing from his cock and he grinds it into Castiel's sensitive flesh.

Castiel lets out a feeble cry but it's swallowed by Dean's open-mouthed, lazily hungry kiss. "Cas, shit," Dean says, dazed and happy, laying his head on Castiel's chest. Castiel ducks his head to place a panting kiss on Dean's head, the water-beaded hair tickling his nose, filling it with the muted scent of Dean Winchester, berry bubbles, and the water itself.

Their breathing slows together.

"Ah!" Castiel sits bolt upright. Dean's on alert beside him; Castiel turns, eyes wide. "I forgot the duck!"

Dean collapses back in the water with a roll of his eyes and an exaggerated sigh.

"I suppose," Castiel says, his voice inexplicably rougher than usual, "that means we'll have to do this again."

Laughing softly, eyes closed, Dean nods against the foam pillow.

* * *

_Make sure you follow this for the next installments! (And show me some love~ ;)_


	2. Sugar and a Shower

_**Bath Time #2: Sugar and a Shower**_

There was never any question that the bathroom incident would be repeated, but Dean is still shocked to come back to the room with beer and find Castiel covered, practically head to toe, in powdered sugar. A box of donuts sits open on one bed. The angel is holding one of the dusty confections almost daintily between two fingers, and when he hears the door he turns, beaming, shedding a trail of small, white particles.

Dean moves into the room, beer already forgotten by the time he sets it absently on the table. Sam, unacknowledged, watches him with an ever-mounting air of bemusement. Castiel holds out his prize to the older Winchester, pleased when Dean steps closer. "You're a mess," Dean says, not unkindly, reaching out to swipe some of the powder from one trench coat lapel.

"Have you tasted this particular treat?" Castiel asks, eyes shining. He raises the donut to his nose and inhales, heedless of the white dust rocketing up his nostrils. "Every time I think I've discovered my favorite of my Father's creations," he muses, "I go out into the world and find something even more wonderful." A pink tongue darts out to lick a shallow stripe of sugar from the treat.

For Dean, it's like his entire existence narrows to the scant square inches that contain Castiel's lips and tongue, and he's chubbing in his jeans like a horny kid. It kind of pisses him off. "Sugar is for eating, not wearing, Cas," he says brusquely, spinning the angel by his shoulders and giving him a small but directive shove toward the bathroom. "Time to clean up."

"Oh!" the angel cries, delighted. "Will you help me, Dean? Like last time?"

"I -" Dean's treacherous feet have already begun to step toward the back of the room. He makes a snap decision, plopping his ass on the nearest bed and bending to loosen his boot laces. Halfway through the second one he remembers there's a third person in this little menagerie of theirs and looks up at Sam, who's been watching the odd scene unfold with his mouth slightly ajar. "Not a word, Sammy," says Dean, and his little brother's jaw snaps audibly shut.

The few steps to where Castiel stands waiting in the doorway are the heaviest and hardest of any walking Dean's ever done, but he makes it. The smile the angel gives him is equal parts happiness and heat, and makes it easier to forget his brother is still in the room.

As he shuts the door quietly but firmly, Dean thinks he might hear Sam say, "I'll just be out here, then."

Then he's got arms full of sugary angel and yes, those lips are as sweet as Dean figured they'd be. Sam is promptly forgotten. Castiel kisses like he'd like to eat Dean up, too, like perhaps he's found his newest favorite creation. The angel's sweet tongue finds its way between Dean's lips, Cas licks his way into Dean's mouth, and Dean's dirty moan is swallowed with a suckle. Caught between Castiel and the door, Dean wanders with his tongue over his angel's teeth, gums, tongue, fucking back toward his throat. It's an open-mouthed, absolutely filthy kiss, and they're both panting into it, even the one who doesn't need to breathe. The heat they've produced is almost suffocating, fogging up the sad little mirror on the wall. Their chests press together, as though one could burrow inside the other, and Dean's clothes are a loss, grayed out by billowing, smearing sugar.

Castiel breaks the kiss and pulls back, arms twined around Dean, lips spit-slick, eyes shining. "You, of course, will always be my favorite creation." A smack of a kiss. "My favorite... taste."

"Cas..." Dean knows he's got a crazy schmoopy look on his face, but it feels like it belongs there. One finger, still sporting an old smear of grease from the Impala, shakily traces powdery sugar down Castiel's jawbone. "We gotta get you cleaned up, buddy."

The angel glances around the cramped space and his face falls comically. "This bathtub is too small," he mourns, visibly distraught. Dean smiles crookedly. His hand has moved to Castiel's hair, sugar like cobwebs catching between the strands, sticking them to his fingers. This is slowly crossing the line between _adorable_ and _one huge mess_, and Dean finds himself saying, "We don't have to have a tub to have fun, Cas," and then he's sliding that trench coat off his friend's shoulders.

Castiel looks sharp as fuck in just his suit, sugar explosion aside. Dean eyes him critically, dick twitching, trying to ignore how wide-eyed Castiel gets when he's being scrutinized. "Why don't you just wear this instead of the Columbo thing?" he asks, genuinely curious. The angel looks... well, he looks downright edible.

"I like the added layers," Castiel says, staring at his trench coat in Dean's hand like he's afraid it will burn away to nothingness. "It... keeps me warm."

"You don't... regulate that, or something?" Dean folds the coat reverentially and lays it bundled on the closed toilet lid, almost missing the rueful twitch of Castiel's lips. "There are more important uses of power," is all he says.

Seeing pale fingers find and begin unfastening buttons on the well-tailored suit jacket, Dean shakes himself out of watching and steps around him to work the shower controls. He adds a running commentary because, he reasons, Castiel has never operated a shower before, and who knows when he might need to do so. "It's just like a tub, see?" Trying and failing to forget there's an angel stripping just behind him. "There's, uh, a knob for, uh, hot -"

A firm, warm body drapes gently but firmly across his back, arms entwine over his shoulders and chest, and Castiel's pastry-scented breath curls over his ear. "I remember the knobs, Dean."

Dean can tell that Castiel is at the very least shirtless, and he's suddenly completely hard, no room at all in his jeans. He can't control how fast he's drawing breath, chasing the oxygen around. His knees are complaining, there's a distraction, "Gotta stand up, Cas -"

Deftly Castiel stands and pulls Dean with him, spins him so they're face to face and runs his hands over Dean's shoulders, taking the forest green overshirt with them. Dean always feels a bit militant in his black tee, even with the amulet hanging between his pecs, so he focuses on his angel, whose expression is playful but fierce. Trying to find a good place for his hands, he skims them over Castiel's hips - the dress slacks are loose, belt and zipper undone, and they slide threateningly down beneath his questing fingertips to reveal surprisingly billowy white, cotton boxers. There's never a trace of those to be seen through the slacks, and either the slacks are just that expensive and thick, or angel mojo. Dean's always willing to believe in a little magic, when it's already been proven to exist.

Smiling with his tongue peeking adorably through his teeth, Castiel rucks up Dean's t-shirt, takes that off, too. He traces the lines of Dean's pecs, and the hunter's cock swells almost painfully to see those pale fingers splayed across his chest. Castiel seems to feel that, for he draws back and looks down and the _look_ on his face - Dean's face flushes crimson to be so studied, now that he's the one on display.

But then Castiel's nimble fingers make short work on the button of Dean's jeans, and yank them down unceremoniously with his boxer briefs to take the hard length of him in hand, and Dean no longer has enough blood anywhere else in his body to blush. That first shock of skin on skin has Dean gasping, a ragged thing that drags its way down his throat and echoes sharply in the confined space of this frankly miniscule motel bathroom. The sound dies away and Dean vaguely recognizes that there was a crash out in the room - but Sam's not shouting about zombies or anything, and Cas is kissing Dean again, _mmph_, none of the rest of it matters.

As of yet forgotten, the shower head spits out gallon after gallon, and steam slowly fills the room. The two break from their latest kiss and find the air hazy, and Castiel glances about in wonder. "Just like the baths of Caracalla ..." he murmurs, wafting a hand through the heavy air. "In other cultures, people believed that tiny dragons created the steam, puffing it out from their nostrils because they were too small to breathe fire."

Usually he loves Castiel's historical tidbits, but can't really bring himself to care much about them when he's hard enough to pound nails. "Let's get under the water," Dean suggests quietly, roughly, tugging Castiel's pants and weird underwear to pool around his muscular calves. The angel steps from them lithely, and Dean watches the ripple of those muscles with a stark hunger in his eyes. Jimmy has a runner's body and the way Castiel moves it - Dean's hands are everywhere, exploratory, relearning some places and discovering many others. They tumble into the shower cubicle together, hands sliding slicker as water soaks skin, Dean's teeth catching over Castiel's throat. He latches on to the fluttering pulse point and sucks, pulling blood to the surface and marking Cas as _his_.

The angel's hand smacks into the plastic wall in desperation, trying to stay upright, but Dean's got him, one strong arm around that pale middle, hips working, striking heat and forcing Castiel back against the cool wall. The change in temperature in and out of the water is a shock, but it's Dean that makes Castiel cry out, when he drops to his knees and slides his hands in silent praise over the flat of the angel's chest and abs. They rest tanned, scarred and calloused, there on the meat of Castiel's thighs, and Dean studies the rock-hard erection bobbing beneath the spray right in front of his face. Jimmy was cut, and he's not poorly endowed, a good eight or more inches springing from a base of dark curls, balls tucked up and ready. A whine of anticipation builds in the angel's throat as Dean leans forward, slowly, to kiss the quivering tip.

The sound that falls from Castiel's lips at the touch, then slide of Dean's is both needy and delighted. His hips buck beneath Dean's hands, trying to shove himself further into the hot slick cavern of the hunter's throat. Dean is taking all he can and trying desperately not to choke, drawing off and sinking down again, the barest of rhythms, focusing more intently on moving his tongue and keeping his teeth covered. There's actually a lot that goes into a blowjob, and Dean had no idea.

He's grateful for the water, wicking away both sweat and choked-out tears. He doesn't want Castiel to think he's hurting him, as from the sounds the angel is making and the way he alternates between gripping at Dean's hair and the slick wall he seems to be having the time of his life. The fingers now in Dean's hair begin to grow more insistent in their scrabbling. _"Dean,"_ Cas keens, and Dean encourages him with a muffled _mm-hmm_ into the skin of his cock that translates up the angel's nerves as thrashing and a low moan.

Dean pulls back, twist of the head and swirl of the tongue, then plunges forward and takes the whole of Castiel down into his throat. All of the muscles there spasm violently, and Dean can't breathe, but he doesn't care - Castiel's whole body bucks off the wall and he comes with a shriek, heavy hot splashes painting down Dean's throat. The angel sinks against the wall, twitching and boneless, pinned by Dean's hands. Dean pulls off the softening, sensitive flesh as carefully as he can, pulls his hands from the home they've made in Castiel's thighs, and curls into a ball on the floor of the shower to cough, and cough, until he's sure his brain and all the contents of his torso have left him through his mouth as well.

Castiel's hands on him, gentle and warm beneath the spray, help calm the post-coughing-fit shudders and ease him up into a kneeling position. The angel's face is a mess of concern and incomprehension, and Dean just has to smile and run a shaky finger through his dark, dripping hair. "Hey," he says softly, in a voice like a gravel mixer.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, no -" _note to self, don't laugh again, ow_ - "that's actually kind of normal for beginners."

It'll never cease to amaze him; just when he thinks Castiel's eyes can't get any wider, the angel does what he does best and surprises him.

"You've never done this before?"

Dean laughs at that, a sharp bark of sound which, of course, hurts. Ridiculous. After a few hacking coughs he flips a recharged smile at his angel, and the way water drips off Castiel's nose. "You're a first in so many ways, Cas," he says, and the soft burr of his voice surprises him, perhaps more than it should. Of course it would be Castiel - ineffable, incomprehensible Castiel - who would inspire Dean to feel and say and do all of these completely uncharacteristic things.

The angel is standing, feet squeaking as they turn and find purchase on the plastic, and he holds his hands out for Dean to take. The hunter allows himself to be hauled up, and suddenly they're face to face. It seems like the most natural thing in the world to slide a hand through that wet hair clinging to the back of Castiel's neck, and haul him in for a kiss.

Lips much hotter than the water they're standing in hungrily lay claim, and Dean finds himself moaning, being licked open and tongue-fucked by an angel of the Lord. He kisses with the same vengeance and fury that Dean has seen in his eyes when he's wielding his blade against foes, or when Dean has been stupid and Cas has to tell him something like, _"I can throw you back in,"_ to make him listen. It's beautiful, seeing those blue eyes burn when he speaks that way, and perhaps even more so to be ravaged by this being of light.

Dean breaks the connection, has to, to run his lips over the sodden skin of Castiel's neck and nip at the angel's ear, growling, "You're too fucking good to me, Cas."

"Wha- what?" Castiel gasps dazedly, hands sliding everywhere on Dean, gracing a hip, grappling at the place where shoulder becomes neck. He turns his head with a soft noise, trying to suckle as Dean is, and in one gorgeous moment of reciprocity they're both pulling deep colored hickeys out of each other's skin. Their hips jolt and buck together, Dean's cock still hard as steel and Castiel gaining quickly. There's something innately hilarious about a powerful immortal creature with the refract time of a teenager, and Dean chuckles softly into Castiel's mouth.

Cas makes a little harrumphing noise in return, and before Dean can pull back and ask him what that was about, the angel has thumped to his knees and is licking up the shaft of Dean's dick like it's his favorite candy.

For all Dean knows, standing there trying not to fall over or lose it in the first five seconds, it is.

"Cas, _fuck_, your fucking mouth," he babbles, fingers tangling in clumps of wet hair. Castiel hums his assent as he's taking the head deep into his throat, no hint of a gag reflex, and Dean can feel the edge approaching with supersonic speed. "Cas, I'm gonna - I can't -"

Castiel pulls off with a soft little pop and looks up at Dean with those wide blue eyes, seemingly unconcerned with the water falling into and around them. "Do you want to come?" he says, a bit of a growl to his voice, and Dean can't help his whimper, nor the forward twitch of his hips. "Yes..." he finally moans, when it becomes clear that Cas won't suck him til he says it. The next word, he can't put sound behind it, but he mouths it, _"Please."_ Castiel smiles up at him beatifically, one strong hand cupping Dean's ass.

"Yes," the angel says, his fingers gripping tighter, sliding further - Dean slams back against the shower wall, undone by the twin sensations of Castiel swallowing him down with a teasing fingertip circling his entrance. He'd touched himself there before, curiosity and the desire for a new way to get off driving him down, but this was nothing like that. This was sparks in his veins, the wet and heavy drag of Castiel's mouth around his cock feeling like a blanket of lightning around his entire body, each new wash of heat punctuated by sweet circling slides, each reaching a little further than the last.

This is – this is something new. It's not just that he hasn't had a blowjob since Branson, and that was months back, because that was just some girl and this is _Cas_. This thing they've got building between them shouldn't feel as exciting as it does forbidden, Dean supposes blearily, overwhelmed as he is by the sensations slung about his hips. But he's not about to stop, nor tell Cas to stop, not when he looks so pretty with his mouth stuffed full of Dean's cock. He's taking it like a pro, letting Dean buck forward as hard as he wants, and Dean would be lying were he to say that was anything but the hottest fucking thing, ever. He's never been able to be rough with his partners, to really let go, not like he can with this amazing angel who somehow wants him more than anything else.

This amazing angel who's doing something sinfully creative with his tongue, in time with the swirling, dipping pulses of his finger around back. Dean's making all kinds of noises now, a steady keen interspersed with yips and moans, absolutely animalistic. He's almost given up trying to stay upright. "Cas, fuck, _fuck_, you're so -" he yanks on Castiel's hair to try and tell him what he can't put into words, and the angel's hum of approval and acquiescence sends Dean rocketing up the summit. He's close, then closer, balls drawing up tight against Castiel's chin when he swallows Dean down.

There's a moment when Dean lingers on the very edge, the very cusp of coming, and it's like looking across at an expanse of pleasure so momentous he doesn't know if he'll survive.

Then Castiel breaches him with that fingertip at the same time he swallows around Dean's entire cock, and Dean is only human. His vision grays out, his muscles lock, and he's arching back with a cry that echoes around the tiny cubicle as he shakes and comes like a freight train down his angel's throat. Castiel swallows around him, the soft pulses dragging Dean's orgasm out until he's just shaking, hips hitching, oversensitive and spent. He sags, slides, until his ass hits the shower floor and he's laughing up into the spray, into Castiel's mouth when the angel kisses him breathlessly.

"Was that good?" he asks a moment later, into the corner of Dean's mouth. Dean chuckles, smoothing his hands over skin that's beginning to prune. "So fucking good, Cas," he says, sucking a bit on the angel's lower lip. He smiles up into that beaming face, those huge blue eyes for half a beat, then reaches behind Castiel to turn the water off. Even when everything is dripping into the stillness, they just sit there, bunched at the bottom of the tub like a couple of kids, staring at one another in dazed delight.

Then it gets cold. Dean's skin breaks out in gooseflesh and he shivers, violently, almost knocking into Castiel trying to duck in for another kiss. The angel eyes him, brow furrowed in confusion, and when Dean offers up a smile the rest of his body shivers even harder. "We should get out," he offers as explanation, and his teeth knock together, the traitors.

Toweling off has never been this much fun, and they warm up quickly, Dean trying to see how many crazy configurations he can coax the angel's hair into, with each pass of the terrycloth. Cas is dodging the towel now, with little playful growls, another towel tucked around his waist. Dean notices this and cocks his head to the side, a gesture reminiscent of the angel he's regarding. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

Castiel snorts. "I've seen you and Sam do this many, many times, Dean."

Sam! _Shit_. "Uh, we were kind of loud, huh," Dean says sheepishly, changing the subject with a swipe of unsure fingers through his wet hair. It spikes up crazily. The amulet, still hanging around his neck on its sodden black cord, feels heavy now as though it were his car around his neck. Or maybe, Dean thinks as he heaves in a sobering breath, this weight is everything that's ever been left unsung between he and his brother, between he and Castiel, between anyone ever.

The angel's chilled hand on his shoulder makes him jump, and he meets Castiel's eyes a little guiltily. "Have you told Sam about any of this?" Cas asks softly, waving his other hand around the bathroom. Dean shakes his head vigorously. "There are some things you don't tell your family, dude."

Castiel's brow furrows a bit, again, at that. "You and Sam are not like other families," he says slowly, not like Dean is stupid, but like he's puzzling something out. "Your constant close proximity requires creativity when you or he wish to -"

"Fuck someone?" Dean says wryly. His angel gives him a very accurate bitchface. "In as many words, yes."

"Sammy's a grown man, he can handle it," Dean says, feeling incredibly awkward discussing his brother's sexual habits with the man who just sucked his cock. "Can we -" he gestures toward the door. "It's cold," he offers lamely. Castiel says nothing, but he's doing that eye-smile thing he does when he reaches for the door.

Dean's not surprised to find the room empty, but as he pulls his black tee back over his head, he realizes he has no idea where to go from here.

* * *

_Dean doesn't know, but I do! Follow this story for the next installments, and show me some favorites love. ;)_


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